My previous four posts on this blog told some memorable stories of my Mamaw, who was a precious influence in my life and many others'. We had numerous things in common, which my Dad inherited from her and passed down to me I guess, including: our love for cooking, reading, history and the value of a good story.
Mamaw was a voracious reader, even in her latter years when vision issues caused more problems, she was determined to complete biographies she had requested and to read the latest books by her favorites. She enjoyed non-fiction, history and especially stories of well-known people. Even vision issues from diabetes did not keep her from reading. One of the fiction authors we both enjoyed is Nicholas Sparks. His may not be deep literature, but his stories reflect real life, including both stories of love and family as well as heartache and tragedy. The men (except for the antagonists) are gentlemen, and the women are ladies. They are respectful to each other, committed to their responsibilities/each other/their families - whatever the main plot necessitates. There is no crude language. There is no current technology. They are timeless tales that inspire the reader to give of himself putting others first, and to persevere despite obstacles.
For almost 20 years, Mamaw and I passed these books back and forth. She would buy the newest release, devour it, and hand it down to me. That was so special, and another bond we shared. I especially loved how, even as an octogenarian, she loved the romance of the books, the gorgeous North Carolina scenery described inside each volume, and we admitted our love/hate relationship with Sparks' books, because we inevitably dissolved into tears at the end of each one.
When she died, and we were cleaning up her home of nearly 50 years, there were many belongings to go through and divide among siblings and children and grandchildren. I was so thankful when a box was set aside for me without my even asking - all of her Nicholas Sparks' books.
To me, the greatest pain of death is the significant realization that all the memories you have shared with a person are all you're ever going to be able to have. I hated to admit that never again would I receive a Sparks book from Mamaw, saying "This one is so good. You'll love it." That box of books represented memories, and conversations, and something we shared that I can still tangibly touch. What a precious gift.
From The Notebook to The Longest Ride, they were all there, with her name in the inside front cover. Sadly, she never read the last book, and it took me until this fall to be ready to pick it up. It seemed wrong to read it when she had not had the chance. As usual, I loved the story and the typical sappy sweetness, but also the twist that never fails to catch me by surprise. Sparks did it again. At the conclusion, I sat crying, knowing that was the last book I ever would receive from Mamaw. It was a very sad moment, and another memory I'm thankful that she was able to be part of, though tinged with loss.
--to be continued
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